"Tonight's Special is Impotent Rage"
artimusdin, you know what you did. I guess it's compliant until chapter 2 of Seven Up, because that's where I stopped to write this.
Stop me if you've heard this one: three bounty hunters, two homemakers, a taxi driver, and an art teacher sit down for dinner. The taxi driver says something about how great it is that I--er, the art teacher--can properly use R's and L's, and then the art teacher decides to use the taxi driver's organs to make a collage.
Why, exactly, I'm eating dinner with Ms. Plum's family is a story for another day. It involves my alumni reunion, poisonings, stalkers, and would make one hell of a beach read except that it's my fucking life right now.
At least I'm getting a nice roast chicken out of this.
Mrs. Plum (housewife #1 and roaster of the chicken) looked like she wanted to adopt me because I ate the broccoli. Mr. Plum (the aforementioned asshole bigot cabbie) was taking turns giving Falcon and Puma (bounty hunters #1 and #2) the side eye. Mrs. Mazur (housewife #2) was waiting for me to answer if I didn't date Japanese men on account of their dicks, or lack thereof. Ms. Plum (bounty hunter #3) looked ready to crawl in a pit and die. I (your humble art teacher) wanted to join her. Falcon and Puma, bless their hearts, were dissecting their chicken thighs and eating their mashed potatoes in their own little world.
Well, Mrs. Mazur has been nice, so I decided to give her a partial truth rather than an outright lie. After this week, I'm kind of fed up with lying, to tell the truth. "I've dated some, but I didn't feel ready to be intimate with anyone when I did." I speared some chicken with my fork and shoved it into my mouth to forestall further questioning. I didn't mention that this dating happened when I was fourteen or so and that if anything intimate did happen, my grandfathers would've teamed up to destroy me.
Mrs. Mazur looked disappointed, then shifted her interrogation to Falcon and Puma. "So, where are you boys from?"
"Florida," they said at once.
"No, no, where are you really from?" Florida is not the answer that she wanted. Florida is never the answer they want to "Where do you come from?" Neither is California.
"Thomas and Henry are Seminole, Mrs. Mazur," I made damn sure to use the most obnoxious, saccharine kindergarten teacher reject voice for this, "Their family has been in Florida for at least five generations." Falcon and Puma looked ready to do fairly unpleasant things to the world at large. "Thomas and Henry" are only to be used in dire circumstances. I considered this circumstance to be pretty fucking dire.
Mrs. Mazur beamed. "Isn't that something! Bet none of the girls have had two Indians for dinner before!" She looked at them again. "Seminoles, huh? Don't you guys do gator wrestling?"
Mrs. Plum drooped a bit in her chair. Mr. Plum was probably deciding if he should ask about their teepees or their warpaint. Ms. Plum was glancing towards the kitchen, to the pineapple upside-down cake that was on the counter. I still wanted to die.
Falcon and Puma beamed. "We've been doing that since we were fifteen," Puma said. And then he launched into the story of when they'd found the nine footer in their pool.
Mrs. Plum crossed herself.
Stop me if you've heard this one: three bounty hunters, two homemakers, a taxi driver, and an art teacher sit down for dinner. The taxi driver says something about how great it is that I--er, the art teacher--can properly use R's and L's, and then the art teacher decides to use the taxi driver's organs to make a collage.
Why, exactly, I'm eating dinner with Ms. Plum's family is a story for another day. It involves my alumni reunion, poisonings, stalkers, and would make one hell of a beach read except that it's my fucking life right now.
At least I'm getting a nice roast chicken out of this.
Mrs. Plum (housewife #1 and roaster of the chicken) looked like she wanted to adopt me because I ate the broccoli. Mr. Plum (the aforementioned asshole bigot cabbie) was taking turns giving Falcon and Puma (bounty hunters #1 and #2) the side eye. Mrs. Mazur (housewife #2) was waiting for me to answer if I didn't date Japanese men on account of their dicks, or lack thereof. Ms. Plum (bounty hunter #3) looked ready to crawl in a pit and die. I (your humble art teacher) wanted to join her. Falcon and Puma, bless their hearts, were dissecting their chicken thighs and eating their mashed potatoes in their own little world.
Well, Mrs. Mazur has been nice, so I decided to give her a partial truth rather than an outright lie. After this week, I'm kind of fed up with lying, to tell the truth. "I've dated some, but I didn't feel ready to be intimate with anyone when I did." I speared some chicken with my fork and shoved it into my mouth to forestall further questioning. I didn't mention that this dating happened when I was fourteen or so and that if anything intimate did happen, my grandfathers would've teamed up to destroy me.
Mrs. Mazur looked disappointed, then shifted her interrogation to Falcon and Puma. "So, where are you boys from?"
"Florida," they said at once.
"No, no, where are you really from?" Florida is not the answer that she wanted. Florida is never the answer they want to "Where do you come from?" Neither is California.
"Thomas and Henry are Seminole, Mrs. Mazur," I made damn sure to use the most obnoxious, saccharine kindergarten teacher reject voice for this, "Their family has been in Florida for at least five generations." Falcon and Puma looked ready to do fairly unpleasant things to the world at large. "Thomas and Henry" are only to be used in dire circumstances. I considered this circumstance to be pretty fucking dire.
Mrs. Mazur beamed. "Isn't that something! Bet none of the girls have had two Indians for dinner before!" She looked at them again. "Seminoles, huh? Don't you guys do gator wrestling?"
Mrs. Plum drooped a bit in her chair. Mr. Plum was probably deciding if he should ask about their teepees or their warpaint. Ms. Plum was glancing towards the kitchen, to the pineapple upside-down cake that was on the counter. I still wanted to die.
Falcon and Puma beamed. "We've been doing that since we were fifteen," Puma said. And then he launched into the story of when they'd found the nine footer in their pool.
Mrs. Plum crossed herself.